


The barge at Molesy lay

by Cerberusia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cats, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1779646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a kitten in his lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The barge at Molesy lay

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for HD Owlpost at the end of last year, but I've only just remembered to post it. It's just a bit of fluff, but I hope it makes you smile.

There is a kitten in his lap.

Slowly, Harry sets down his teacup in its saucer, not taking his eyes off the kitten. He doesn't know much about cats, but going by how out of proportion its ears seem to be, it's still very young. And, like every stereotypical magical cat, it's entirely black from its nose to the tip of its tail.

It is tooth-rottingly adorable, even as it kneads Harry's robes with its tiny claws.

"His name is Sulla," Draco tells him, also setting down his cup. "If you're allergic, now would be a good time to tell me."

"No, no, I'm not allergic." Harry delicately strokes Sulla's nose with a finger and watches the kitten's huge golden eyes cross. "What breed is he?" He knows better than to even ask whether Malfoy has adopted a mongrel.

"Bombay. The colour is characteristic of the breed."

"He's gorgeous." Sulla opens his mouth in a yawn, revealing tiny needle-like fangs. Harry is charmed in spite of himself.

"He is, isn't he?" Draco preens like Harry's given _him_ a compliment. He also casts a soppy look at the kitten which Harry sees but doesn't comment on, instead leaning carefully forward to pick up his teacup again. And it is a teacup, not a mug, because Draco likes to do these things _properly_. The whole set's been spelled against damage, but Harry's still irrationally paranoid that he's going to drop and break it. At least he's developed a taste for the Earl Grey which Draco insists on serving him.

"Draco," he begins, "I was wondering..." He takes a gulp of tea to steady his nerves. "Would you like to, ah..." He takes another sip of tea. "Would you be interested in..." He puts down his teacup, stares deep into Sulla's eyes and steels himself.

"Yes," says Draco.

"In going- What?" Harry stops with his mouth open.

"I thought I'd put you out of your misery," Draco explains. "My answer is yes."

"Oh." Harry closes his mouth. "Good," he adds after a moment. "Very good." Sulla mews in his lap, and he puts down the teacup again and starts petting.

"I do not, however, know where you were about to suggest we go," continues Draco, taking a delicate sip of tea - probably for effect, the poncy sod.

"The Arrows versus the Magpies," says Harry, and immediately braces himself for the judgement that will probably come in the form of a raised eyebrow and a ' _Rea_ lly...'

"A foregone conclusion, but probably entertaining nonetheless. You support the Arrows, don't you? Unusual - isn't your local term the Tornadoes?"

"Er, yes," says Harry a little awkwardly, attempting to disengage his hand from Sulla's hopefully-affectionate gnawing. "My mum was from up north, though, and apparently she supported the Arrows because they were the only Northern English team. I - got interested, I suppose."

Now Draco raises his eyebrows, but only in a fair-enough expression. "I've heard worse reasons to support something." Coming from Draco, that's tact. "I'll choose the restaurant," he adds. Harry hadn't even said anything about dinner, the cheeky sod.

"Nowhere too fancy," he warns him, going back to petting Sulla's velvety ears now that he's removed his teeth from Harry's person. "I'll only embarrass you."

"This is true," acknowledges Draco.

"Actually, assuming that you even know of such establishments, somewhere that doesn't require reservations would probably be best." Sulla starts climbing Harry's robes, so Harry picks him up and cradles him to his chest. Draco closes his eyes briefly in a familiar haughty-but-resigned expression.

"We're going to end up in the Hog's Head, aren't we," he says.

"Eh, there's some nice places in Whitby, which is where the match will be held. All fish, of course, but I've seen you eat prawns so I assume that's not a problem." If it is, finding _anything_ in Whitby will be a challenge, he doesn't say.

"I wasn't aware that there was civilisation that far north," says Draco, but it's half-hearted. "Very well, I'll look into it."

Harry hides his smile in Sulla's fur.


End file.
